


A prized stag and a laughing lion : Game of Thrones alternate universe self-insert

by writingreadingandshit



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Accidents, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Game of Thrones Fusion, Brother-Sister Relationships, Brotherhood, Brothers, Canon Compliant, Canon Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Drama, Execution, F/M, Family Drama, Fantasy, Father-Daughter Relationship, Father-Son Relationship, Game of Thrones References, Game of Thrones Spoilers, Game of Thrones-esque, Gen, Inspired by Game of Thrones, M/M, Minor Violence, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Mother-Son Relationship, Multi, Non-Graphic Violence, Other, Post-Canon Fix-It, Self-Insert, Sister-Sister Relationship, Sisters, Slow Build, Swearing, Violence, Weddings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-17 04:21:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29465685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingreadingandshit/pseuds/writingreadingandshit
Summary: A self-insert, somewhat non-canon, Game of Thrones fic
Relationships: Arya Stark & Bran Stark, Arya Stark & Reader, Arya Stark & Robb Stark, Arya Stark & Sansa Stark, Bran Stark & Reader, Bran Stark & Robb Stark, Bran Stark & Sansa Stark, Catelyn Stark/Ned Stark, Catelyn Tully Stark & Sansa Stark, Cersei Lannister & Catelyn Tully Stark, Cersei Lannister & Reader, Jaime Lannister & Reader, Jaime Lannister & Tyrion Lannister, Jaime Lannister & Tywin Lannister, Jon Snow & Arya Stark, Jon Snow & Benjen Stark, Jon Snow & Bran Stark, Jon Snow & Catelyn Tully Stark, Jon Snow & Ned Stark, Jon Snow & Reader, Jon Snow & Sansa Stark, Ned Stark & Reader, Ned Stark & Robb Stark, Ned Stark & Sansa Stark, Renly Baratheon & Reader, Renly Baratheon & Robert Baratheon, Robb Stark & JonSnow, Robb Stark & Reader, Robb Stark & Sansa Stark, Robert Baratheon & Reader, Robert Baratheon/Cersei Lannister, Robert Baratheon/Ned Stark, Sansa Stark & Reader, Tyrion Lannister & Reader, Tyrion Lannister & Tywin Lannister, Tyrion Lannister & Varys, Tywin Lannister & Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 8





	1. The back of a prince's head

**Author's Note:**

> !7 minutes reading time!  
> This is an alternate universe Game of Thrones self-insert fic:  
> I am not staying directly to canon and changes will be detailed as such.  
> For this chapter some context and changes are required due to the nature of the writing:  
> \- Rickon Stark does not exist.  
> \- Myrcella Baratheon does not exist and has been replaced by y/n Baratheon.  
> \- Ages are more book appropriate, however, not exact.  
> \- John Arryn hand of the king is dead and characters are aware of this.  
> All changes and alterations will become obvious as you read.  
> Happy reading!

Sansa’s pov

The party of Lannister’s and Baratheon’s that arrived at Winterfell was much larger than she had ever anticipated and a good deal noisier too. As he rode in, the instantly recognisable Joffrey frequently shouted at his sword, a man who was a great deal bigger than him and angrier looking, but who remained silent in the face of the prince. However, despite such an attitude Joffrey appeared forthright, and when he passed Sansa his shoutings seemed forgotten and he gave her a pleasant smile, that she returned in a toothier fashion, which brought instant regret and a blush to her cheeks. Following behind him were two dark horses, impossible to tell if black or bay, and atop them were the King and Queen, the Queen riding slightly ahead of Robert in a pathetic attempt to catch up to her son, and the King behind. Such an order of arrival was unheard of at Winterfell as it constantly seemed the duty of the King to arrive first to demonstrate “authority” and other things which Sansa had heard a sister say. However, Robert appeared elsewhere occupied and instead routinely turned his head to engage in conversation with the two horses behind. Sansa did not immediately recognise the man atop the bay horse behind, but with a splattering of facial hair and a semi-youthful demeanour in the way he spoke to the rider beside him and in front, she assumed it to be Renly Baratheon, the king’s younger brother. 

It seemed that in a certain light Renly himself could have been mistaken for a boy however, the gold and bronze that carried themselves around his neck and an aged scare sitting above his smiling lip proved otherwise. Such scarring and age did not appear on the rider next to Renly, one whom played in conversation with Robert and occasionally looked backward to see a young Tommen Baratheon upon a white pony accompanied by a Lannister and Baratheon soldier, respectively. Such a rider was certifiably y/n Baratheon sister to Joffrey and Tommen, a princess in all technicalities. Despite the party arriving being larger than anticipated Sansa was already keenly aware of the arrival of y/n, a girl only two years her senior. Arya had never been much of a lady, and surely never would be, but with the princess’s arrival to Winterfell Sansa hoped to find some sort of kinship with a like-minded girl, one who she may sit and talk with in a way her mother nor any of her brothers could provide. Amongst the three Baratheon children she was the only one who did not sport the golden hair, such that Sansa keenly admired Joffrey had, and though she did not lack the beauty, to Sansa it seemed that the God’s had ripped Roberts face from his own and fashioned it onto that of his daughter.

Before such observations could continue the party began to dismount form their rides and Sansa was ushered into a pre-rehearsed line, at the hand of her mother, standing between Jon and Arya. The colourings of their own family were just as diverse; the Tully red and the dark Stark curls that were somehow lost over age, as seen by her father and Robb. After a few moments of awkward silence and rustlings the arriving party too lined themselves up, however, in a messier fashion and Sansa was now directly opposite a young Tommen, a boy who could not seem to keep his eyes in any direction, neither the sky nor the frozen-over ground. The air remained crisp until Robert’s warm and hearty form crashed through it and brought her father into an intense embrace even before speaking a word. “By the God’s Ned you’ve gotten fat.” A slight pause occurred in which Sansa raised her eyes in an attempt to meet those of another, but it failed. “The King forgets himself and his own stature,” her father returned with an equally hearty smile and any invisible tensions between the two, became nothing as the two appeared brothers. Of course, Sansa thought, they were in most senses, two boys raised together, two boys who fought together and in front of her it seemed; two boys who had not seen each other in a long time. At instigation of the glare Sansa could feel from her mother she could not see, she lowered herself into a curtsey and gave a sharp jab at Arya knowing she would forget; however, this only produced a pathetic curtsey on Arya’s part before a boom from Robert demanding that they dare not repeat such an action. 

The next few minutes that passed were ones of formal introductions, firm handshakes among men and laughing at jokes Sansa did not quite understand. Occasionally, she looked along the line in desperate attempt to make eye-contact with Joffrey but hopefully this time without her childish blushing. However, her attempts were in vain as Jon caused irritating distance between the pair. Sansa internally wondered why Jon had even been allowed to line up with them, let alone cause her inconvenience. Jon himself stood opposite y/n looking at the ground, and anywhere else, just as Tommen was, to avoid eye contact with y/n who seemed to pay him little heed. As Sansa looked upon the pair her mind wandered to marriage as a young girls often would, but not to her own and her craving for Joffrey, no, rather that of y/n. Her eldest brother Robb was already agreed to be engaged to one of the many Frey daughters, however, Sansa often thought that if not a match had been conceived so early on, that maybe Robb and y/n might have made a match. However, such a situation had not presented itself and no other brother of hers seemed suitable, after all Bran was merely six, and Jon was no brother of hers. Finally, the party began to rustle and without any formal acknowledge a movement to inside Winterfell was made. Tommen had finally occupied himself with something, that something being jogging impatiently behind his father and hers who began crossing past the gates into Winterfell. The natural order of Kings seemed to return as Cersei promptly followed her husband with Joffrey in tow, and behind them a gaggle of Stark’s, Baratheon’s, and Jon too. Sansa glued herself to Robb’s side as he followed Joffrey and his mother, and she plastered a pleasant smile to her face in the hopes that Joffrey might turn around.

Her walk back to her home was filled with chatter that she was not engaged with and instead filled her trip back with an aching mouth and odd looks from Robb. Such a was journey longer than she last remembered, and it gave her ample opportunity to study the back of Joffrey’s head and the image covering the back of his armour. It was a tribute to Robert as many things were, as was her own brothers name, and what it depicted was quite savage. A man, dressed as a stag plunging his sword into the breast of a dragon, the entire scene decorated with tiny rubies. A depiction of the infamous battle of the Trident if she ever saw it, many history lessons by sister’s encrusted in crystal and savagery.  
As the party turned a corner, the pace of someone behind her quickened with apparent impatience and soon enough y/n met her side in relative silence. As Sansa looked up to meet her eyes, as she often did with people to establish company of some degree, she saw the princesses’ eyes landing precisely where hers just were, on the image on Joffrey’s armour. The look which the young Stark girl was presented with was very much Robert’s sentiment, as it was his face, and the eyes of a girl only a little older than her was filled with sinful pride whilst examining the scene. Such loathing, although well-founded, was intimidating nonetheless and such a look caused Sansa to slow her own pace to create distance between them. Sansa in that moment thought of the loser of the Trident, Prince Rhaegar and his rubies, and thought how happy she was that there were no Targaryen’s in Westeros, for she feared the ferocity of such a war it would produce.


	2. A stone girl in silk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robert and Ned converse over important matters, a brotherhood is tested.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !5.5 minutes reading time!  
> This is an alternate universe Game of Thrones self-insert fic:  
> I am not staying directly to canon and changes will be detailed as such.  
> For this chapter some context and changes are required due to the nature of the writing:  
> \- Lyanna Stark exists but there will be potential alterations, none of which are relevant yet.  
> \- Lysa Arryn was married to Jon Arryn.  
> All changes and alterations will become obvious as you read.  
> Happy reading!

Ned’s pov

Ned had not been down to the crypts in so long that he had quite forgotten how quiet they were; however, everything was quieter now that he and Robert were well below the main hall where the children and women chattered and played. It was colder too. Winterfell had always been cold, but Robert seemed to have forgotten this and the summers he spent there as he was layered in merely thin silks and was sporting a mural similar to one Joffrey wore of the Battle of the Trident, however, this illustration was complete with the bodies of two babes. “The blood of children and Rubies don’t keep you warm,” Ned thought, but maybe it was enough down in Kings Landing. However, before his passage of thought could continue, it was broken by Robert’s voice, not booming this time but rather more serious than Ned was used to, such a voice he had only heard before war and moments gravity.

“Such loss, of such a man,” Robert remarked. He paused slightly, either to contain his nerves or waiting for a reply from Ned, but he got none.

“He was hardly young but God’s Ned that man was a father, to the both of us.”

Here Ned did offer a reply in way of a tentative shake of his head and then raised his eyes to meet those of Robert. He had received no such letter from Lysa Arryn yet personally concerning Jon’s death due to such delays and chaos at the reach, much to his dismay, but Ned’s mind moved away from the technicalities of death and to his friend.

“Why are we here Robert?”

His question was met with a barely musing response, one he assumed was full of wit but not one which answered his question. Did Robert think he was so naïve not to know his intentions, to know that such a huge party would only ride North for a serious intention? Ned suspected of his asking, but he needed Robert to ask him, like a man, like the brave man who carried a rebellion, not one who was a coward before his brother.

A great deal of time passed between the two men, before Ned spoke up once again, irritation more obvious in his tone this time.

“I know why-.”

“Can’t we speak as brothers Ned, the brothers I know we are,” Robert cut in thickly and quickly, as he fumbled over that last few syllables like a boy.

Ned mused over this for a while, he knew Robert anticipated a response from him, but he was not quite ready to give him one. His eyes trailed the crypts they stood in; millennia of stone Starks decorated the walls from the great Bran the Builder to Lyanna, all etched with the same stony death. He hesitantly thought to maybe mention her to Robert, to gain some leverage, to give him power in the heavy conversation he knew would ensue, but he thought better of it. Ned was a better man than that, he had been since a boy. But finally, Ned pulled together the shreds of mind and questioned Robert in such a forthright manner it took the king back by surprise a little.

“Why not Stannis, Robert? Why not your brother?”

He saw a somewhat strained expression fill Robert’s face, not exactly anguish but discomfort which caused Ned to somewhat regret the tone in which he had asked. “Why not Stannis?” he mused over his question. Stannis had occupation of Storms End, of soldiers, thousands of them, and if memory served him well a disposition that would have made him more than ideal for the work of the hand of the King.

With deep breathing, Robert proceeded with his answer to the question Ned was sure to regret.

“How long has it been since you have been to court Ned? Must’ve been when the boy Tomen was born, huh?”

Ned cracked smiled at the memory, Tommen a boy younger than Arya with quick eyes and a kind smile; he had often drawn similarities between him and his own son Bran. However, this newly born joy quickly turned to disquiet, it had indeed been that long the two had been separated, and so he answered with unease despite knowing it to be true.

“I suppose so.”

“Yes, yes it was. You see since then things have changed Ned brother; it is not the same court.”

Robert seemed to bleed out desperation, his words and voice scarcely matching his straightened posture. To see a man crumbling in his own voice was troubling to Ned.

“Go on Robert.”

A conversation in the dark, in the crypts between the two men, continued for a near half-hour and Ned listened so deeply to his friend. Robert talked of the Lannister’s, of Tywin, Jaime, and the dwarf Tyrion. He conveyed long harboured feelings of mistrust, of the whispers around him and the ones he could not hear. His fears circulated around y/n and her future, Joffrey’s time as King even young Tommen. For it seemed the struggles of fatherhood and husbandry were, for Robert, played out on the brutally comic stage of kingship. Robert was a sane man Ned thought, none of his accusations or thoughts were madness, not when shared among brothers. But it the darkness of the crypts, observed by only the dead, Ned thought if a squire or knight walked past, they would hear pleas of a madman, a king.

Ned could not quite remember if Robert ever asked him to be hand or whether he had dreamt it but after scaling the steep steps of the crypt back to the light, he knew he had to prepare to move South, and fast too. He eyed himself some squires to assist, boys no older than fourteen and made for the East wing to confront Catelyn. As he briefly glanced back over his shoulder there was a lacking the burly black figure of Robert behind him and assumed he still remained down in the crypts. With Lyanna he thought, and then promptly continued his walk over the frozen-over courtyard to make plans.

Winter is coming Ned Stark thought; Winter is coming South.


	3. A rock and a boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A celebratory feast occurs and Jon Snow muses over his future and present.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !6.5 minutes reading time!  
> This is an alternate universe Game of Thrones self-insert fic:  
> I am not staying directly to canon and changes will be detailed as such.  
> For this chapter some context and changes are required due to the nature of the writing:  
> \- The family structures remain pretty much the same as the books and the TV show.  
> \- Some time has passed since chapter three.  
> All changes and alterations will become obvious as you read.  
> Happy reading!

Jon's pov

“When there are guests there should be food and wine, and more wine for good measure.” 

Jon had acknowledged these as some of the fundamental tenants drilled into him by Layman, however, by popular rumour, it was implied he should take everything said by Ser Layman with a hefty pinch of salt. Of course, his father Lord Eddard Stark lived by different more honourable tenants, ones that were admired throughout Winterfell. It seemed through marriage Ned had also adopted the Tully words of “family, duty, honour too.” Jon thought Ned only said honourable things, only did honourable things and there was not a man in Winterfell to disagree. Even during Robert’s Rebellion, his killings were said to have been merciful and true despite the savagery of Rhaegar toward young Lyanna.  
Jon mused these things whilst sitting outside of the main hall on a rock. It was a comfortable rock on all accounts but not where he wished at all to be sitting. From the arrival of the King’s party to the warm feast taking place indoors Jon had felt more a bastard than he had in sixteen years. At thirteen Sansa never failed to give him eyes that made him shrink back, and this was only matched by her red-haired mother who did almost the same, once out of her husband’s sight. Jon Snow, the boy who could wield a sword so well on the courtyard became a coward before his own family. 

Of course, Jon did not loath his family as he probably should, and honour was one of his greatest virtues, that and turning away in the face of confrontation or cruel words. Despite such treatment, he had been welcomed graciously by his father from birth; dressed warmly, fed, taught how to fight with phenomenal knights but now childhood which had shielded from too spiteful remarks was wearing away. Such a situation had led Jon to be sitting outside upon a rock, blunt sword in hand. There had been a place set for Jon at the table, of course, there had, Ned would never allow for anything else but this time it was not just the eyes of Catelyn and Sansa, but those of Cersei too and Joffrey, and worse of all a sort of pitiful look from y/n which seemed to cut even deeper. Jon had attempted to avoid such silent ridicule to the best of his abilities by avoiding the visiting party at all costs. When Joffrey would joust with Robb in the courtyard, he would not pick up his sword that day, and when Bran ran with Tommen through the frosty fields Jon would remain inside. His only solace was that of Arya who, against every one of her wills, was kept inside with Sansa to learn the art of a lady.

However, such avoidance had proved somewhat difficult due to y/n and her seemingly constant presence. She seemed to not join in with the lessons of Arya and Sansa as he assumed, she would, perhaps she had already perfected becoming a lady and a wife at just fifteen. On the contrary, she often roamed around with her uncle and when he went hunting or riding, she too avoided the clashing courtyard and fields and remained in her room. Such a girl seemed never able to occupy herself and surely never would, although there was little need to find purpose, not her at least.

On the contrary, Jon most definitely intended to find purpose as a man, he deemed himself. Many a time had Jon indicated a desire to join the knight’s watch to Ned. Jon believed himself proficient with a sword, more even than Robb and boy a year his senior, although he was less pretty with it. The wall was an honourable occupation and many good men had spent their lives there, in fact, his uncle Benjen was at the wall as of present. Jon had never met his Uncle but from talks with Knight’s and workers, he was deemed more reserved but just as honest and good as Ned. However, this decision was not a mere flailing of ideas, no Jon had been considered. There was little life for him in Winterfell, not one he could bear and his life as a bastard had been good, better than he deserved. To stand, and sit, and eat amongst a Lord’s children, he was constantly told, was a privilege and sometimes it felt it.

Despite his well-devised mindset and persistence, Jon felt he would still miss Winterfell, Arya mostly. Boyish and kind she had been to him at all times and she often claimed she felt what he felt and it hurt her for a girl of eleven felt she too was the outcast of her family with her toothy grins and wooden swords. Her melodramatic tendencies were not such that Jon criticised them, instead, he merely mused knowing he would be the only ever outcast. On such a point Jon began to wonder if every family had an outcast, even those high in praise. Amongst the blacksmith’s children, there was a boy who failed to walk let alone work with the metals his father had, and the two boys had formed a sort of kinship. But Jon thought higher than this, to the King, to the Queen. It was quite obvious who the bastard Lannister was, Tyrion Lannister, who if you did not recognise for his stature you would surely recognise for his wit and mind, so he had been told. From the King’s children, it would surely be y/n not that Jon spent much time sympathising over her position. What an immense loss he thought, to be born into this world so cruelly that you are without golden hair? He chuckled at this thought.

This was abruptly ended at the sound of horses. Jon silently prayed it was his uncle Benjen who was due to arrive back from the wall after the death of Jon Arryn. Such an arrival would be more than ideal for Jon, as he passionately believed he would finally be able to convince his father of his wishes and leave Winterfell behind for the wall. However, these desires were quickly dashed when two horses appeared that were far too expensive to be that of Watchmen’s. A floury of golden hair appeared atop the horses, and a handsome man and a short one were at the gates.

Jaime Lannister Jon thought, he had never seen the man in the flesh but without the great amount people talked of him, he felt they were old friends. He carried lion plated armour like a prince, and a white cape followed him respectively, whereas the man beside him, now obviously Tyrion Lannister looked a great deal messier altogether. The two of them smelt of gold and looked it too, and once Tyrion had dismounted aside his brother his short legs carried him as if he owned the world.

Jon’s thoughts were once again cut short as voices from the main hall travelled closer to him and Tyrion followed by Jaime went toward him. Scrabbling to his feet Jon knew not whether to bow to these men or not and when the two passed him he landed on lowering his head slightly. Although such a pose put him out of eye-line of Jaime Lannister, it did not do the same of Tyrion and the two made eye-contact. 

Bastard eye-level with bastard, one coated in gold the other holding a blunt sword Jon had never felt more embarrassed. However, the eyes of Tyrion were playful and inquisitive, like he knew who Jon was. It seemed comforting that someone, even the Lannister dwarf, knew who Jon Snow was.


	4. Big windows and medium-sized bottles of rum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two men arrive at Winterfell and the shorter indulges in rum.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !5.5 minutes reading time!  
> This is an alternate universe Game of Thrones self-insert fic:  
> I am not staying directly to canon and changes will be detailed as such.  
> For this chapter some context and changes are required due to the nature of the writing:  
> \- Benjen Stark exists in his traditional from in the fic.  
> All changes and alterations will become obvious as you read.  
> Happy reading!  
> p.s Thanks so much for the subscriptions and Kudos, it means so much to me :)

Tyrion’s pov

Tyrion had been in Winterfell only a few hours before he began to drink heartily, and fine warm whiskies and rums decorated the tabletop in front of him. The man was not drinking alone, no, never alone but the conversation which presented itself to him failed to be engaging at all levels. They were knight’s most honourable and dull men Tyrion thought. He often thought if he had not been born such as he was, he would have thrown himself off of a ledge if he too had to pursue the life these knights talked of. How wretchedly lucky he was.

Most of the conversation was considered of the King, of course, and others of the arriving party of Watchmen that would make an appearance. Jon Arryn knows how to throw a party Tyrion thought, even in death and it seemed men who had not seen each other in decades were joined together with wine and misery. Not excessive misery for Tyrion although.

Jon Arryn had been a good man, no doubt, a sort of father figure for some of the most notable men of Westeros, but Tyrion always found him a little dull. However, these were thoughts he would never dare raise within earshot of an ‘honourable’ man or even his brother. To not find fault in your father Tyrion thought, what a grave mistake. Even if that father was Jon Arryn. Perhaps his cynicism of Arryn was rooted in the relationship between him and his father, but for such a deep and internal conversation to occur, some soul-searching was required, and Tyrion did not have the time for that.

Tyrion had not intended to come to Winterfell, in fact, he never really intended to go anywhere; staying in Kings Landing with his drink, his books and bloody good company was all he ever desired, but even these simple pleasures had been taken from him. He had been forced to ride with Jaime up North to Winterfell, arriving shortly after the main party consisting of his sister and Robert, why Jaime could not have left with Cersei he did not know, but he could not muster the effort to think about it. A bond between twins he thought, one he could never truly comprehend and such a bond he had never felt with family nor with a woman he spent the night.

Looking around the small, hot room, filled with voices and no conversation Tyrion began to people watch, to foolish and ignorantly examine the men around , and let his mind lose to produce jarring insults about all of them. These insults were lost, however, in the business of the room and Tyrion’s famous wit was put to rest momentarily. Despite this, he still pondered on the host family, on Winterfell and the bloody honourable Starks and their children.

Whilst mentally examining the Stark children Tyrion felt as though some of them would grow up to be rather intolerable. Robb a boy with signature dark Stark curls and too much self-riotousness to make him any good of conversation, Tyrion was certain he would one day be Lord Commander of the North, and though this thought did not scare him, being forced into conversation with him did. Tyrion paid little attention to Arya and Bran, too young to drink heartily, too young for a piece of his mind he thought. Sansa had been the only one to instigate a conversation with him through choice, a red-haired girl so preoccupied with ladyship, he did not dislike her and only felt a little pity. In all likelihood there was a future for her with Joffrey, a stupid choice Tyrion mumbled, an ignorant girl. Tyrion was not quite sure to quantify Jon Snow as Stark as he examined the family but decided to do it for ease. Snow was tall and broad and on arrival, Tyrion had noticed him sitting outside, away from the rum and light. A boy of fifteen in a darkly lit room could easily be mistaken for a man, but his overall demeanour of cowardice and perpetual shame brought him right back to being only a boy.

There was no kinship, no friendship between the two, how could there be between a bastard and a Lannister however, this is not to say Tyrion did not look down on him with some degree of sympathy. “The knight’s watch,” he had heard a drunken swordsman say, not a bad life at all for a boy such as Jon, and even whilst holding a blunt sword he knew the boy could wield it well. It was cold for sure and no place for a man such as himself but maybe there was more miserable solace in it all.

Whilst mulling over this thought, and the rum too Tyrion thought he caught a darting figure outside of the tall window. A squire, a boy, but perhaps neither. In all likelihood it would be Bran or Arya or even Tommen, who seemed to be the only Lannister to make any friends up North, but what if it were not. Y/n was a viable option, as Tyrion methodically worked through the list of children who might be around these parts of the castle. She was taller sure, but light played dangerous tricks. If it were her, why out at the time, and what was she doing?

These internal questions were not necessarily born out of fear, rather inquisition on Tyrion’s part for the habits of the girl he little knew. Sure, she often matched him in battles of wits and had stolen is rum back at King's landing more than once, but he felt he did not know her character. Not her favourite uncle he supposed, that would be Renly, a taller, younger man than he, with often questionable rumours about his night-time activities which Tyrion did not entertain out of some thin respect.

After a few more moments of working through the various family’s children, he put it all to rest. What did he care that some child was running about, he was merely projecting a more entertaining truth than it would be. And such a truth was now exposed as hoofbeats were heard on the cobbled courtyard a few yards away. Cheap they felt to Tyrion, poor shoeing, or no shoeing at all, and not many of, them beats of twelve and sixteen. Benjen perhaps? That would make the boy at the window Jon and his daydreams all the less interesting. Alas, Tyrion ultimately cared little for the horses outside or the bastard so desperate to join them, and with that Tyrion began to drink himself to the next morning.


	5. Ice, spite, and dogs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robb ponders on Jon's future and the length of stay of the Baratheon's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !6 minutes reading time!  
> This is an alternate universe Game of Thrones self-insert fic:  
> I am not staying directly to canon and changes will be detailed as such.  
> For this chapter some context and changes are required due to the nature of the writing:  
> \- The wall still exists  
> All changes and alterations will become obvious as you read.  
> Happy reading!

Robb’s pov

Robb had never cared much for men of the Knight’s watch he thought, as he watched his uncle Benjen walk across the courtyard, with Jon at his heel. Though he did not deem it as a poor choice of a profession, he would never exactly do it himself. However, this was always to be true, and as the eldest Stark son Robb took his inevitable duty as Warden of the North so very devoutly, and when the King’s party arrived in Winterfell, he felt compelled to impress Joffrey, in the hopes of clearing the air of the future. Of course, he did not go about this in Sansa’s girlish fashions but instead made every effort to joust with Joffrey on the cobblestones, brandishing his sword in front of the blonde boy often hoping to wound in him in an attempt to gain his respect, and for him to somewhat fear him.

However, as the stay of the party lengthened, much longer than Robb would have like he figured it was probably in his best favour to not harm the boy in any fashion. Joffrey did not come to their duels and jousts alone on the icy ground, and although Robb did neither as he was often accompanied by an overly eager Sansa, Joffrey’s accomplice was far more intimidating than a thirteen-year-old girl. The hound, Robb thought, was such a suitably matching title for the man that watched the fights between the two of them. He brandished a long blade that Robb could only assume was named something such as “intimidating seventeen-year-olds unnecessarily” or “the prince’s dog” and carried a multitude of scars on his face. Robb had always admired the scars men had, and his father carried his collection, however, Robb rudely noted that such a collection of scars on this man’s face were merely unsettling and grim, not at all like the scars of Jaime Lannister or Renly Baratheon, or any he hoped to gain in battle. However, such a constant visitor to his fights with Joffrey on the cobblestones was not the only reason Robb dare not harm the boy.

Joffrey was certifiably vile, in most senses. His words were vile, his laugh was vile and every thought he had ever had, every breath he breathed was sure to be tinged with spite and vileness. However, Robb had been slow in realising and it took several meals and hours together to come to such a conclusion. It had begun pleasantly, whilst in the presence of Sansa and his lady mother all was pleasant, pleasant looks and adequate conversation of history and battles, mostly Joffrey boasting on the behalf of his father, which was not something Robb indulged in personally. However, a few glances and spiteful words into his stay, irritation had begun to boil. First remarks of his swordsmanship, his style of fighting and its “womanly nature.” No woman could fight as well as he could, and Robb intended to prove that, for what God’s would allow such a woman. Then came critiques of hi engagement to the Frey girl, which torched his skin.

Robb has been engaged to Roslin for many years now, a woman he had known even longer, and an agreement that suited both families. Robb felt pride in securing that for his Lords father and Lady mother and Roslin was kind, unlike Joffrey’s remarks. “Such an elder woman Robb, are you quite sure it will all go to plan on the wedding night.” “Will she bathe you along with your sons Robb.” “A boy to have two mothers, what a sight.” Such remarks continued both during their fights and subtly at mealtimes. Robb was keenly aware of Roslin’s age, a woman over a decade his senior, still pretty but older all the same. The two were to marry when Robb became of age, due to an agreement his father had made to help secure the success of Robert’s Rebellion. However, as of recent Robb had seemed to let his mind wander as to if such an agreement was not in place.

Sansa had only once introduced the idea of y/n into is mind, as a way of playing out an odd hypothetical. However, Robb did not enjoy such an idea as he thought he would. Of course, she was a princess and would secure such wonderful things for the North, but he was not quite sure he actually liked her. Sansa seemed to continually praise her in an effort to appease a girl who was not ever-present, to help with her probable marriage to Joffrey he thought, and for this, he did not blame her. However, y/n’s disposition was hardly compatible with his own for Robb prided himself on his forward-thinking and honour as a young man, whereas she seemed to have no regard for such fine qualities.   
All such thoughts were now put to rest as Robb had nearly walked out of Winterfell whilst in his thoughts and knew it best to turn back now, to not make him late for mealtime. However, before turning back Robb looked out at the icy field and small track that led into a distance that he would not want to venture into without a thick coat and boots. There was such vastness this far North and the only notable thing for 100 miles was the wall, he thought. Such a structure was not visible from where he was standing currently, as the land, sky and ice melted together, however, on a clear day if you rode out far enough you could see it. Jon would be so extremely far away at the wall Robb thought, and he would not, he would remain at Winterfell, always. He would probably miss him if all worked in his favour and Jon was given the freedom to leave with Benjen, sooner rather than later Robb thought as the Watchmen intended to head back before the rumblings of a blizzard.

At such a thought Robb finally turned on his heel and headed back to the main castle, past shacks, and smiths, all to one day be his, after his Lord father. He did not know the men and the families there like his Lord father or even Jon did but he would eventually, and he would eventually sit with the blacksmith’s and their sons, and command them through good treatment. As he neared the hall, from which were he was standing he could see his Lord father, Jon and Benjen huddled around a table, discussing Jon’s pursuits probably. Jon was to leave soon, Robb felt it, he knew it in his bones, in his hair, in his heart and such a thought did not worry him only dampened his mood in such a way he would never let a soul know. Jon may be leaving he pondered but he would not, for there must always be a Stark at Winterfell.


	6. The paperwork involved with being cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catelyn mulls over events that will soon occur and examines the lives of her children, as a mother does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !6.5 minutes reading time!  
> This is an alternate universe Game of Thrones self-insert fic:  
> I am not staying directly to canon and changes will be detailed as such.  
> For this chapter some context and changes are required due to the nature of the writing:  
> \- Very little contextual changes for this bit.  
> All changes and alterations will become obvious as you read.  
> Happy reading!

Catelyn’s pov

Catelyn had known Ned would be leaving her the moment she heard the chortling figure of Robert, in fact, is she was being truthful, even before that. Robert seemed to always take her Ned away, and even over a decade after is rebellion the King still kept clawing at the man. For a good deal of time, however, she had managed to create relative peace in their home however, Ned stayed home, in Winterfell and watched their children grow, Bran from just a babe and Robb, into what she now deemed a man. The North stabilised developments were made under her watchful eye. Libraries and blacksmiths were erected, men were trained with their own metals, in their own air and she fashioned her children into people the Gods would be proud of. Sansa to a lady, but Sansa was a lady at three and mirrored her own appearance so directly shed sometimes think Winterfell was littered with mirrors. Robb such a serious and grown-up boy, yet such dramatic tendencies would grow out of him soon, as they would in Arya and her cries of the unfairness of being made to sew. These womanly pursuits Arya had never cared for and although Catelyn could and never would show it, she often felt for the girl.

Riverrun would have been a better place for Arya, Catelyn thought, somewhere with lush grass and water and eight types of bear, maybe the barren and beautiful ground of Winterfell was not always to her liking. This was soon to change Catelyn acknowledged with a sigh, and soon she anticipated both her daughters would very much leave Winterfell, whether it was to their liking or not. It had been after a conversation between Robert and Ned that preparations for her husband to leave as the hand of the king began. Mostly papers and signing and assigning noble duties, all of which seemed to eat at the moments the couple had left together. It had been quickly agreed between the two that Ned would leave, and Catelyn had been allowed no such time to reel, but she never did when he left. At least this time he would be safe, or safer she thought down in King’s Landing with his self-proclaimed brother Robert. For the last time he left her he returned with Jon Snow and Catelyn did not desire such a repetition.

Catelyn had always been told as little as possible about Jon on all accounts, his mother, his place, his reason. Of course, she had not been so naïve to thing her fresh and new husband could keep still warm vows whilst at war, but it hurt, nonetheless. However, the greatest blow to her dignity was Ned returning with the boy after his mother passed. Catelyn would have thrown a thousand gold coins at the boy if it meant she did not have to share mealtimes with him, let him play with her own, to clothe him, to wash him, which she avoided at every turn during his childhood. Instead, she preoccupied herself with Robb, and when he grew older, Sansa and when she could dress herself, Arya and her final occupation was Bran. Such avoidance did not cease to stop even when Robert’s party arrived and instead, she devoted time to the young Tommen, y/n, and Joffrey when there were few other options of conversation.

So much so she had been engaged with visitors she had scarcely lifted an eyebrow at the arrival of a few Watchmen from the wall and Benjen. They got a letter, Catelyn bitterly thought, Lysa’s letter after Jon Arryn’s death was still yet to arrive, and though she did not doubt her sister’s writing abilities every day she grew a little sourer as she had no personal acknowledgement from the reach, from her sister. Such arrival of the Watchmen was only truly confirmed in Catelyn’s mind through talking through Ned and whilst the two sat upon their bed eyeing through papers and scrolls, her husband had mentioned it. Mentioned it was an understatement and the two had spent near enough an hour talking about the arrival of Ned’s brother, what had been seen at the wall, and finally, Jon’s desire to join them. Such a conversation could have been condensed as when queried by Ned if she thought the Night’s Watch was the path for Ned, she instantly agreed. However, such a response hardly came from wanting the boys wishes to come to fruition, rather wanting him to leave her and Winterfell on all accounts.

Jon was a young boy she mused, but not too young to saddle himself to a noble life if he could manage such a thing, and when quizzed by Ned’s asking that he was too young Catelyn merely threw the concept of marriage in his face. In fact, she specifically noted a conversation she had had prior with the Queen, who was not to her taste but often provided decent conversation. Y/n, once the party arrived back in Winterfell was to browse and hopefully chose a husband Catelyn argued, a girl of only fifteen to marry, to endure far worse than Jon ever would at the wall This produced a mildly concerned eye from Ned but nonetheless, she continued, Jon was a year y/ns senior and she would soon be managing a marriage, in all likelihood a castle too, maybe Storms End one day, and Jon would be cold, and that was all.

In fact, to further illustrate such an argument she introduced Sansa, claiming that in just a few years she too would be thinking of engagement and marriage, hopefully to the future king and such an argument seemed to put a confused silence to Ned. He agreed, shortly thereafter and they went back to sifting through papers and organising things for their own. With Jon, to all intents and purposes, going to the wall it would be only Bran and Robb that remained with her at Winterfell. This was due to Bran being only a boy, and one who had been so sickly in infancy and Robb too would stay behind, partly because she did not think he desired anything else and as he was to partially act as Lord Commander until he came of age with his father’s new position. Despite such a role, Robb had seemed to block it out of his mind, scarcely mentioning the leaving of his father for a boy who desired responsibility so greatly, but she put this down to nothing more than nerves and hoped he would think clearer once all the busyness of Winterfell had left.  
Catelyn did not like to think of how much she would miss Arya and Sansa, two girls close in age but apart in heart for the moment but felt some relief in that she would not be there when Arya would start her tricks and inevitably complain about ladyship in the Capital. Despite such a potential ease of her nerves, they were nonetheless her girls, ones that she missed too dearly already. However, the lady vowed that when departures of Winterfell would occur, she should not cry, not to be Stoney faced as Lyanna standing beneath them, but instead to be well put together, a mother she thought, not a girl. Ned would return to her she thought, eventually, or maybe she would go to him soon as although Robert had the grabby hands of an infant, he was not entirely cruel.

With that Catelyn set about making the final preparations for the morning, and with her back turned to her husband, hoping he could see her smile, and not the tears starting to form ever so lightly.


End file.
